The Children We Were
by RootlessTree
Summary: Based off of giant ACOMAF spoilers. Avoid if you have not finished ACOMAF. "I'll tell her when I see her, Rhysand. I'll tell her you took care of us, that you are still trying to take care of her. I'm sure she already knows how much you love her, but I'll tell her that too." Rating may be subject to change.
1. Chapter 1

Attention: This whole fic is based off of GIANT ACOMAF spoilers so please please do not continue if you have not read the book/ do not want to be spoiled. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!

Anyway, I had originally intended to do a multichapter Night Court fic with Rhys and Feyre but after reading ACOMAF I simply could not resist writing an Elain/Nesta dual perspective fic taking place directly after ACOMAF. I mean there are so many freaking interesting things going on with these Archeron girls I simply CAN'T!

Elain is my little Hufflepuff cinnamon roll who will be Lucien's saving grace and Nesta is my fierce and mighty hellcat who took more from the Cauldron than it wanted to give. I love how Sarah J Maas has given us such amazing, interesting, and flawed characters.

Basically this is my ACOMAF sequel from Elain and Nesta's perspective. Please please review and subscribe if you want to see more of this and let me know what you think!

 **Elain**

It's been two months since I've seen my younger sister. Two months since the Cauldron. Two months since my death as a mortal.

I'd spent the first week in Velaris weeping. Weeping for my sister. Weeping for the life I would never have. Weeping for the fiance I would never marry. In her true fashion Nesta had simply paced, hissed, and refused to let anyone in our shared room. Even now she paced, like a feral cat who'd been backed into a corner. I don't know how she manages it, the looking so vengeful and graceful in her new body. Once my hands had finally stopped shaking I had hardly been able to take hold of a glass of water without shattering it in a shower of glass on the floor. Even now I usually spill or drop something in my lap at least once every meal.

When the weeping finally stopped the anxiousness set in. Where were we? Were we free to leave anytime we wished? Was the Lord of the Night Court our friend or our foe? I suppose if we were to be eternal prisoners of the Night Court we could have fared much worse. Our room was large and luxurious, with a bed so large we had no trouble sharing and a fire that kept us warm at night. Food was delivered to us three times a day and it was always delicious once I could actually manage to stomach it. Once my weeping had stopped I had spent almost of fortnight feeling a overwhelmingly dizzy and off center, vomiting up most of the food I ingested. Nesta had not shown any of these transitional signs and held my hair back for me every time I was ill. I think she secretly hated that she was able to adjust to her new Fae body so flawlessly. She'd smashed all of our mirrors the first day here after catching her own reflection.

Unlike Nesta I seemed to be struggling every step of the way. Once the dizziness stopped the extra senses became a problem. The sound of someone's breathing a room away sent me into a panic because I thought they were sitting beside me, a drop of water on the floor sounded like a resounding flood. Sleeping became a near impossibility.

It was not until the vomiting stopped and I had settled into the stage of constantly pressing my hands to my ears to block out all the noise that Rhys had shown up at our door, Cassian and Mor in tow. I had a sneaking suspicion that they had intentionally given us some time to ourselves. Time to grieve in my case, and time to calm down in Nesta's. From the way she snarled at them it was apparent that time had done her little good in that regard.

I had clicked my tongue at her and invited them in hoping that the people who had sat by Feyre's side, offered us protection and acted as friends were exactly that.

It was then that Rhysand had explained everything. Feyre's sacrifice. The unbreakable mating bond, the game she was now playing, everything. _The mating bond._

" _You're my mate."_ This sentence has floated through my head more times than I would be willing to admit. " _You're my mate."_ With his paled face and unblinking russet eye. His coat laid crumpled and untouched in the corner of our room despite Nesta's many protests about it. I hadn't worked up the nerve to touch it yet, to try and smell his scent on it with my now keen nose, but I did look at it sometimes.

Understanding the weight of my sister's sacrifice sent me into a new bout of weeping. I had been so inconsolable that Nesta didn't even growl as Mor wrapped me in a hug in an attempt to comfort me. And it was then that I uttered the words through gleaming tears and hiccuping sobs that changed nearly everything: "What can we do to help her?"

"If you think I am actually going to let you go, you've lost your goddamn mind Elain." Nesta was growling. Always growling. Cassian eyed her carefully from the other side of the room, his face morose as he tracked her with startling intensity. His once glorious wings were still in shreds and tucked very carefully behind his back. I couldn't help but notice he always made a habit of keeping his back to the wall now in an effort to keep them from being seen. Back to the wall and eyes on Nesta. It seemed that this was his constant state of being.

"Nes, I have to. No one else can. We've been over this." I've never been the brave one. The stubborn one. I've certainly never the strong one. I'd always left that to Feyre or Nesta who slipped into those roles so naturally. But now, for once in my life I have something to offer that no one else does. Something that might make a difference. I am not about to just let that go.

Rhysand, who was merely a ghost of the man he was when he was sitting at my sister's side in our home, rose wearily from the table where he sat. His eyes flit between Nesta and I. So tired. He looks so endlessly tired.

"It was Feyre's only wish that I take you both away from the Spring Court, that I keep you both hidden and safe. Do not think for _one_ moment that I don't understand the weight of this decision." He pinched the bridge of his nose between his forefinger and thumb.

"So you are just going to let Elain saunter into our enemy's territory on the hope that she can get Feyre some magic necklace?" Nesta throws her arms in the air, fully exasperated. It is all I can do not to physically wince at the words. Our enemy. The one eyed man. He was our enemy, Feyre's and Nesta's and mine.

Azriel, who stood in the corner shrouded in his shadows sighed deeply. We've had this conversation many times before. Nesta never seems to take it well.

"We've lost men," he explained, "many men, trying to get near the wards of the Spring Court. How many lives must be lost before you see reason?"

Nesta lifted her chin and stared him dead in the eye, unyielding to his writhing shadows. "As many as it takes for my sister not to become the bait."

Bait. I suppose that's what I was to be. The ancient necklace pressed to my breast, thrumming powerfully against my racing heart.

"Feyre will be there. Not to mention Lucien, who will undoubtedly provide her protection." Cassian spoke up, his eyes a live ember as they danced over Nesta's seething figure.

She turned on him, the fire in her own eyes matching his. "Oh is that so? Why the hell does everyone seem so inclined to think he will do that? We're betting an awful lot on that hope in fact."

"It's not a bet." Cassian said, unblinking, unyielding. "That is what we Fae do for our mates."

It's a simple statement but it makes my skin crawl. I still don't know what to believe. I still wear my iron engagement ring though it is now too tight on my finger. I do my best not to look at it most of the time.

"I don't give a fuck what you think about him. I. Don't. Trust. Him." Nesta is silently daring Cassian to rise to the bait. He says nothing. Neither of them blink. "Elain's place is with me." There is a finality in her voice.

Rhysand turns his attention to me. "And where do you say your place is Elain? As we've said before, no one will force you into this."

Everyone's attention turns to me and I think I might faint. My heart races wildly in my chest, the sound of it's thumping drowning out almost everything else. "I think….I think that Feyre has taken care of me for a long time and now…." I look at Nesta and glup. "Now I think it's my turn to try to take care of her."

Silence. Everyone is waiting for me to say more so I take a deep breath and continue.

"It's a risk, but it's not that much of a risk if this necklace has the power you say it does. I figure if worst comes to worst we can use it, shatter the Spring Court boarder wards and get out of there. That's the whole point of this isn't it? To amplify Feyre's powers?"

Rhysand simply nods, mouth pulled in a tight line and arms crossed over his chest. I wonder what hatred he must feel when he looks at me. I know when he looks at Nesta all he can see is Feyre's eyes.

Nesta whips the power of those eyes to Rhysand. They are lit with rage. "Feyre will be livid with you for bringing her into this."

"Feyre will see reason." Something that Nesta does not seem able to do. Rhysand does not raise his voice but there is a bite behind his words that would make anyone shy away.

"And what am I to do while my sister's are gone? Sit here in the safety of your little city and weave baskets with your wounded warriors?" If the words strike Cassian, his face does not show it. In fact he steps forward, pulling himself away from the safety of the wall at his back and toward Nesta.

"You'll come with me to the Illyrian camp nearest to the Spring border where you will be trained if you choose. When Feyre chooses to shatter the border you will be close enough to help both of your sisters."

I can tell that there is a flicker of interest behind Nesta's icy stare.

The room waits in silence again. I pray silently that this is the last time we are forced into having this debate.

"Fine." Nesta says after a long pause. I let out a sigh of relief. "But if anything happens to her I will hold you accountable."

Rhysand simply inclines his head, almost like a nod of understanding but not quite. I think Cassian looks the most relieved of all.

Mor, who had been sitting quietly not far from my side, finally speaks up. "Elain, please remember everything we talked about. Don't forget, no matter how beautiful or innocent that place might appear, it's a death trap." Her beautiful face is furrowed with concern. Concern for me. Concern for Feyre.

"I know." I say because I do. I really do.

"Then it's decided." Rhysand says, looking relieved and concerned all at the same time. "Elain will leave for the Spring Court this evening and Nesta will join Cassian for the Illyrian training camp first thing tomorrow morning. Until then we should all get some rest."

Nesta grabs my arm and is pulling me toward the doorway, still none too happy about the decisions made when I gently pull myself free from her grasp to turn and look at the High Lord of the Night Court. "I'll tell her when I see her, Rhysand. I'll tell her you took care of us, that you are still trying to take care of her. I'm sure she already knows how much you love her, but I'll tell her that too."

He doesn't smile at me, not really, I don't know if he is really even capable of that now, but his eyes do soften into something tender and I know that it is as much of a thank you as I will get.

 _Future chapters will be longer! Just had to get the ball rolling on this one. Up next: Nesta's POV!_


	2. Chapter 2

_Hello all! Wow, thank you SO much for all of the reviews and follows. I am seriously so pleased and so grateful for all of the feedback._

 _I was recently on vacation which is why it took me a while to get this chapter up and why it is not quite as long as I would like it to be. I apologize for the length but will make up for it by posting an Elain chapter soon!_

 _Nesta was so fun to write. Seriously I am so excited for her plot. Sorry for the cussing in this chapter, it's difficult to write Nesta without her dropping the F-bomb once or twice. Her and Cassian have some….interesting things happening._

 _Also if any of you are interested I have created an 8-tracks playlist of songs that I listen to while writing this fic, thought it would be a fun thing to include!_ _/rootless_tree/the-archeron-sisters_ _Enjoy!_

 **Nesta**

Fuck mud. I've always hated mud. Honestly. It must rank in the top three things that I hate most, placing just behind the existence of High Fae and the idea of Illyrian war camps. It is currently thoroughly caked to my boots and clinging desperately to the bottom hem of my dress despite the fact that I have spent most the morning on horseback.

There was a time where I would have simply refused to ride through this storm. I would have turned my nose up and locked myself in the safety of whatever manor or shack we lived in at the time and huddled up with Elain in our too small bed until the sun came out again. But Elain is not here, and no shelter is available, shack or otherwise. I'd rather not talk about the lack of either.

I'm seething and I'm wet, and I am almost knee deep in bloody _mud_ and I'm ready to take my misery out on anyone in my vicinity.

"What exactly is the point of you anyway? It's not as though you are incredibly useful traveling companion. Where's Mor?" I glare at the the back of Cassian's head venomously. His hair is damp from the rain and it is clinging to his collar, not pulled back from his face as I have noticed it has been before. Not that I've ever actively taken notice of his damn hair. Obviously.

"She is busy." Cassian says without turning around on his steed, "As we have discussed." He finishes shortly.

His muscles are taut underneath his loose shirt, wings tucked carefully behind him and covered with his cloak. I wonder secretly if they still hurt him. I mean obviously the loss of them still hurts him, but I can't help but wonder if they are still causing him any physical distress. He winces every once and awhile, when they twitch or he moves too quickly. I wonder if they will ever fully heal, and if they do if he will ever fly again. Despite everything, mud and all, I don't have the heart to bring that up to him.

"Well you could at least attempt to be marginally decent company. I've been staring at your back for an hour now."

Our horses are still clomping along at a fairly slow pace as we make our way up the mountainside. For the millionth time I want to complain about the fact that for a group of people with wings and winnowing abilities horseback seems a rather stupid way to get around. I could probably run faster than these stupid creatures. But I know what response I would get if I did complain, because we _have_ discussed our travel plans at length already. Though I believe that their reasoning borders on paranoid it actually makes decent sense. The concern is that Night Court's magic is being tracked, at least the ones who were present that night two months ago, and it wouldn't do to winnow straight into a secret war camp and hand the enemy all military operations information on a silver platter. And though I can walk faster than these miserable creatures in the rain and sleet of the mountain, I am unsure about Cassian's ability to do so. So I keep my mouth shut about the topic.

Cassian turns in his saddle enough to shoot me a lopsided grin and a wink. I know that look. I also know whatever comes out of his mouth next will be insufferable.

"No one said you had to stare at me, you know. Though honestly I don't blame you." I tighten my grasp on the reins in my hand until my knuckles are white and will myself not to blush. Damn him straight to hell. "How about you return the favor and go first? Give me the opportunity to gaze at your backside uninterrupted for an hour or two."

I can't help it, my face does flush at this. "Insufferable bastard." I spit on the ground, remaining firmly behind his steed.

This is the way most of our limited interactions play out. I did not see much of him during our time at the Night Court and quite honestly I was glad for it. I don't like looking at him, it makes me have to try to forget too much. I try not to remember the way his calloused hands had felt as they ghosted over my cheeks to wipe away my tears, and I certainly try not to picture the tenderness in his eyes as he promised me and my people his protection.

A promise, I note, that he did not keep.

I have decided to hate him for it. For all of it. For making me believe him, for making me have even a shred of hope, for making me feel safe even for a moment.

He chuckles at my venom, shoulders shaking slightly, as though I've told him some sort of joke.

I want to tackle him off his damn horse and pummel him until that stupid smirk is wiped right off of his face.

This, I can only imagine would probably give him some sort of sick satisfaction so I decide to fume in silence instead.

"Things will be different once we get to the camp, Nesta." He says after a while, glancing back at me momentarily.

I say nothing, so he continues. "I have duties to attend to, soldiers to train, strategies to create. I won't be able to be as present as I would like, but you are of course welcome to stay in Rhy's quarters with...uh...with me…." I raise an eyebrow at this but he hurries on, "and Mor as well, when she is available to visit. There are plenty of rooms. It's not much, but it's better than most of the tents."

"I'll be sure to weep at the loss of your presence." I say dryly flicking my wet hair out of my eyes.

He snorts in what could be a laugh but continues. "Illyrian's are… an interesting sort, Nesta. You will be training with a group of three women I hand selected and they are awaiting your presence with enthusiasm. Illyrian males, however, are not always to be trusted. Certainly not around beautiful women. Keep your head down. They'll know you're with me. They won't lay a finger on you. But still, you would be wise not to provoke them."

"I can take care of myself." I snap at him. It's obvious that I, in fact, cannot take care of myself or else I would not be here now in this damn High Fae body, without my sister's by my side, without a real home and preparing for a war I don't know enough about, but Cassian certainly does not need to know just how inadequate I am. I don't need _his_ protection. It's not like it really helped me the last time I needed it.

And now there is a lump in my throat and my traitorous eyes are filling with tears. I don't need him. I don't need anyone.

As if he can sense my distress Cassian stops his horse completely. The wind whips at the ends of his this hair, blocking his handsome face but the look of concern is unmistakable. It is also unbearable. I can't hold his stare. Instead I look out on the mountain side, the green trees of the forest we came from looking minuscule beneath us.

To my horror he is beside me when I finally turn back. I am relieved I have mastered my tears. I would hate for him to see me cry. Again.

He has dismounted his horse, which is shifting impatiently before me as Cassian reaches up to grip my chin and tilt my face downward towards his. His eyes are intense, their burning catches and holds me.

" You are the strongest woman I have met in hundreds of years. Hundreds. But I promise Nesta, I promise be there for you. I promise I'll be there to protect you, to teach you, to…"

But I don't want to hear any more. No more promises. No more. With great effort a wrench myself from his grasp and brake his gaze. He looks shocked, hands still lingering in the air where my face was.

"Fuck your promises." I say, and then I dig my heels into my horse's side and trot away before I can get pulled into the depths of his delicious eyes and beautiful promises once again.


	3. Chapter 3

_Here we go! As promised an Elain chapter! I struggled with this one a lot, like a lot a lot, and would seriously like any input you may have! I hope you enjoy. I am so excited that this fic is getting to the point where plot points are moving along, the set up is always the most difficult part._

 _I have seen a great deal of Lucien hate, which I understand to some extent but also find like...disturbing? He is loyal to a fault yes, but honestly for as much understanding we have for Feyre's reaction to her trauma there is like little to no understanding at all for poor Lucien and everything he has been through? Of course he has made mistakes, but my goodness this poor ginger child's life has literally been hell, and all of the manipulation and abuse Feyre has suffered at Tamlin's hands Lucien has lived with for like...centuries… and he just thinks that's the way life is because he has never had the opportunity to experience anything better? Oh my goodness talk about heartbreaking. No wonder he needs our little gardening cinnamon roll Elain as a mate. (Sorry for the rant I just had to get that out there.)_

Elain

"You might wake with a headache." Mor says, running a gentle hand down my arm, she starts fussing with the back hem of my cropped shirt, straightening it and smoothing it over as though she is some sort of concerned mother. Whether it is concern for me or for my ability to pull off this operation I am not entirely sure. Probably both.

Mor continues, "And you'll likely be fairly disoriented, but remember to keep that amulet hidden no matter what. Don't even mention it to Feyre until you are sure you are alone. Even then, Elain, you must be discreet."

Discreet, secret, wise, resourceful, the list of things I must be in the Spring Court is never ending.

I feel uncomfortable in my Night Court clothing, finding it far more revealing than anything I've worn before. A strip of pale skin from my midriff is peaking out from beneath the pink fabric, and the extra exposed skin on my back makes my neck hairs stand on end. The pants are loose enough that no one will be able to see the amulet that is strapped securely to the inside of my thigh. It is strapped high enough that no one should be touching it by mistake.

The thought makes me blush.

"If I am to be unconscious what's to stop anyone from trying to change my clothes? What if they undress me?" I am blushing even more now despite the fact that it is a legitimate concern. The last thing we need is to have some Spring Court servant find out I have only been returned to smuggle a weapon into their territory.

"Az will make sure you're at least starting to wake as they find you. The hope is that they will bring you directly to Feyre. If not you must be sure to stow the amulet somewhere safe somewhere off your person before they have the chance to find it on you. Do you understand?"

I have a lot of experience lately with functioning while disoriented or ill, I'm sure I can manage stowing a necklace so I nod with as much confidence as I can muster.

Azriel, who has been watching more and I carefully from the corner of the room, rises, shadows swirling around him. He is frightfully intimidating but there is a certain tenderness in his eyes that puts me at ease. I know it is not there for me, but instead for Mor, who is hugging me one last time.

"It's time to go." He says simply. My throat constricts and I am glad I've said my goodbyes to Nesta already. She is packing for her journey with Cassian and as far as she is concerned I've already been gone for an hour. We thought it best not to tell her about the whole unconsciousness part of the plan because it would only set her into a rage that would put us all behind schedule. I've never been deceitful to Nesta before, but in this case it is warranted. Especially as Mor pins a note to my shirt. It reads, in Rhysand's elegant hand:

" _As a sign of good faith to the esteemed Spring Court: A mate for a mate. Return Feyre and no harm will come to her other sister. Regards, Rhysand, High Lord of the Night Court."_

Of course they won't return Feyre, but the reasoning, and the underlying threat give me a perfect and unsuspicious entry to their apparently impenetrable border.

Azriel comes to stand before me, I search his impossibly beautiful eyes and feel, somehow, nothing but trust for him despite his steely exterior. My lips twitch, offering him half a smile. To let him know that I am ready, that I trust him, and that I see him beneath all of his shadows.

"We will see you again." He says simply and I see his wings begin to expand. I take a deep breath and then I see nothing at all as the world falls into darkness.

I feel a pair of strong arms lift me slowly out of the darkness, one tucked firmly under my knees, the other coming behind my back. I will my eyes to open, my mouth to move, but I can't. The darkness holds me down. I claw at it. Throw myself against it, but it is no use. My head is pounding, screaming in protest at every movement, and despite my closed eyes I feel the world spinning too fast.

I slip under again, unable to hang onto that thin shred of consciousness I am so desperately grasping for.

"Lucien _would_ be the lucky bastard that's mates with female as pretty as this. I just assumed she would be as hideous as he is."I drift back, head still spinning and placed on something hard. A shoulder. The voice of whoever is holding me is harsh and rough, and there is a sick sort of amusement behind it that makes my stomach lurch. _Open your eyes Elain._ I tell myself. _Just open your eyes._

A laugh resounds not far to my right. It makes me stiffen.

" Ah Lucien won't mind if we share, Bron, got to be better for her than getting passed around to those Illyrians at the Night Court."

.

"It's too bad she didn't show up before Calanmai," The voice holding me says, "that would have been a treat for us all. And I tell you what else, we ought to adopt the Night Court's little fashions. This top is simply delicious."

I feel the hand at my back move slowly toward my strip of exposed skin, a calloused thumb barely brushing by. The other one moves from behind my knees up my thighs. _Move Elain_. I scream at myself. _Move._ I am about to use all the willpower I have to throw myself out of the male's grasp when I hear a piercing scream.

"Elain!?"

It's my sister.

I have never been more relieved, and if I could I would sigh with relief. Feyre, on the other hand, sounds completely shaken.

"Elain?" She must have moved fast because before I know it I am surrounded by her feminine scent and her familiar embrace. She is crying. Crying and clutching me to her chest. Saying my name again and again.

"We found her at the Autumn Court boarder." One of the voices says, now sounding awkward. "There was a note…"

"Let me see that." Feyre snaps, her grip on me loosens and I assume it is to snatch the note from his hands. She is quiet for a moment, and then there is another sob. "Oh Elain, what have they done to you?"

But I know what she really means. There is a bite behind her tone that really means "What have you done you idiot? Why have you come?"

I want to pry my eyes open, to reassure her with at least a momentary gaze, but all I manage to mumble is her name before I fall into darkness again.

I wake with a start, gasping for breath as a sense of panic rushes through me. How long have I been out? Azriel said he would try to wake me once he left. Why am I so weak? Why did they trust me with this?

There is a warm light pouring through the windows. Though it is probably late day, almost sunset, I find myself cringing against it. I lift a hand to shade my finally open eyes and I squint at my surroundings. I am in a room. In fact not just a room. I am in a bed, a surprisingly comfortable bed.

My head swims and the panic worsens so I sit bolt upright and kick violently at the covers around me. My clothes. They mustn't change my clothes.

"Whoa there. It's alright. Everything is alright. You're safe."

I know who that voice belongs to before I even turn to look at him. It's _him._

I spare a glance down at my legs, relieved to see them still clad in the flowing pink fabric of my Night Court garb, before turning toward him.

The mere presence of him is overwhelming. He has risen from his seat which is perched not far from the head bed where I lie, a look of concern furrowing his brow as he leans in my direction. His once long fire red hair has been cropped short, sticking out in different directions like he's been running his hands through it. His one russet eye focuses on me in an instant.

My already racing heart lurches in my chest. His nostrils flare a bit. The swimming of my head turns to full fledged dizziness and I clutch at my head.

"Where am I?" Despite everything I still have my part to play. Even with him. I throw a nervous glance around the room again and realize that we are alone. The door is closed. Dismay floods through me in a rush.

"Where's my sister? I thought I heard my sister!" He must hear the panic rising in my voice because he leans forward even more, hovering just over the side of the bed. His hand is outstretched, like he was reaching for me and then thought better of it and stopped. He is close enough now that his scent washes over me. It is all spicy and masculine and so very very unique to him that I almost recoil. His scent hits me in the gut. I find my heightened senses inconvenient most of the time, but this, this smell it's…staggering.

"You're safe." He repeats, "You were found at the border of the Spring Court. They brought you back directly. Your sister sat with you for hours. I told her to take a break and eat something. She's just downstairs."

I breathe a sigh of relief. Feyre is not far. The plan is working.

His brow is still furrowed, eyebrows knit together in concern.

"Would you like me to fetch her for you?" He asks politely.

I simply nod and he rises to leave the room. I'm glad for it. His presence is confusing.

I fall back on the pillows and shut my eyes, trying to ignore the pain from my aching head. I throw an arm over my eyes, trying to block out the light that still has me cringing.

His scent washes over me once again and I feel more than hear him take his seat next to me again. I have half a mind to pretend I am asleep just so I can avoid the awkwardness that is sure to come, but I know I will have to speak with him sooner or later so I force myself to open my eyes and turn my head toward him. These are so many questions swirling around in his eye, confusion and concern written clearly across his face, but he says nothing, still staring at me.

I offer him a weak smile. "You've cut your hair." I say simply, almost in a whisper.

I swear I hear his heart skip a beat.

"What?" He replies, his voice is almost hoarse like his throat has gone dry.

"Your hair," I say again, a bit louder this time and I point lazily at the top of his head, still not raising my head. "You've cut it all off."

A ghost of a smile tugs at the end of his lips. "Yes. I did." He is silent for a moment and the awkwardness seeps in. I honestly don't know if he even knows my name. It's not as though we've been properly introduced. I don't think "You're my mate." counts as introduction in proper Fae society.

"I'm Elain." I say, with a smile and I realize with a jolt that I want to see him smile too. I want to know what it looks like on his scarred face. I want to hear his laugh. I bet it's lovely.

"Lucien." He says simply. We fall into silence again and I know I should probably say something, probably continue our pathetic conversation, but there is something peaceful about the quiet and it settles over both of us comfortably.

We are sitting like that, him leaning forward in his chair, elbows resting on his knees, and me head turned toward him, blonde curls splayed everywhere on the soft pillows beneath me when the door flies open making us both jump.

It's my sister. And from the momentary look she gives me before rushing into the room and wailing my name with concern I can tell she is not pleased.


	4. Chapter 4

_Thank you thank you for all of the follows and reviews! I appreciate you all so much! I had such a blast writing this chapter. There is so much to explore about Nesta's character now that she has been "Made" and I am ecstatic for her development._

 _Heads up: we are moving over the next week and a half so my life involves a lot of packing right now. I am going to be pretty busy but I hope to have an Elain chapter up sooner rather than later. If it takes a little bit longer than usual just know I have not fallen off the face of the Earth._

 _I hope you all enjoy this chapter!_

 **Nesta**

The rain has turned to sleet and I am soaked through the bone and freezing by the time we finally arrive at camp. There are Illyrians circling overhead, the sound of their wings beating is magnificently loud even over the the ruckus voices of reveling men. The ones in the air must have seen us coming hours ago.

Cassian, who has been on edge since my outburst, looks completely paled now. His jaw is clenched tight and he is clutching at his reins with white knuckles. He has stopped his horse completely in the safety of the tree line, not ready to expose himself completely, not ready to enter into his role as general quite yet.

I'd be an idiot not to know why. These beasts of men obviously prize their wings. Above all else they define their existence by their wings. Cassian's wings are...well... they are what they are, sacrificed for the protection of a friend. I pull my steed to a stop just beside his and I see is throat bob.

I'm no good at comforting people. I've never been good at comforting people. I always left that to Elain who usually included a warm embrace, a cup of tea, and a sweet smile. It's been awhile, a long while actually, since I've even felt the inclination to comfort anyone other than my sister.

Still, the thought of Cassian being concerned about these barbarians seeing the scars of his bravery and laughing at him for it ignites a rage so visceral that a snarl escapes my lips before I can stop it.

He looks at me, a bit shocked considering I haven't spoken a word to him in several hours, and I turn from his gaze to search the camp beyond the treeline.

" Sacrifice," I say, still not meeting his eye, "is not something to be ashamed of. If any of them have the nerve to say anything I'll cut their thumbs off. Let's see what good they do as great warriors when they can't grip a sword."

This earns me a smile. A genuine smile. His teeth flash white against the night. "I am glad to be on your side Nesta Archeron."

And just like that he is ready and we are both trotting into the camp side by side.

The camp itself is not much to look at. There are few torches lighting our way due to rain and night has fallen hours ago. but my keen Fae eyes are still able to take in a great deal. The tents themselves are unimpressive, though to their credit they are large and holding up well against the sheets of rain and wind crashing against them. Most of them emit the warm glow of candlelight and ruckus laughter, proving that most of the camp has long turned in from training or a communal meal. There is a large bonfire not far off, warm and inviting and dancing and so large it seems to lick at the night sky. The individuals surrounding it, however, do not seem so inviting. All the males compare to Cassian in size and bulk and most of them hace their wings are spread proudly behind them. Their fighting leathers and armor shine in the fire light. They klink together large glasses of ale and leer at the few women who are present.

Cassian and I both dismount our horses quickly, a stable hand catching hold of the reins without comment and leading them away. I draw my cloak's hood up over my hair, trying to gain any reprieve from the sleet pounding against my already raw cheeks. Cassian is walking so close that his forearm brushes mine.

The only house among the mass of tents and muddy training ground stands not far off. It's old, and the stones on the side are chipping but there is smoke coming from the chimney and that makes it look inviting to my tired and sore muscles. Unfortunately the presents of the large male looming in its doorway makes it much less appealing.

I wrinkle my nose at the smell of the male instantly. He smells of sweat and fighting leathers, and ale. Moreover he is leaning in the doorway of the house like he owns it and he is sneering. I take a second more to realize that he is not sneering at me. His arrogant gaze rests on Cassian. I draw my lips back in a snarl instantly, flaring my nostrils in distaste. I clench my fists but Cassian's hand instantly flies to mine in warning, sending a shock of heat through me.

"General, we have been expecting you." The male says in a snide voice, eyes leaving Cassian only a moment to rake over me. It is Cassian's turn to stiffen. He says nothing though his jaw tightens and the man continues. "In fact we were expecting your presence a few days ago. I almost died of shock when our sanctuaries told us they saw you coming up the side of our little mountain with your pet here." I audibly snarl and this and the warrior's eyes just dance in amusement. " Thankfully your...traditional means of travel have allowed us to prepare your lodgings. I am sure you will find it all in order."

"Horseback suited our needs better for this trip, Cerdic. But I appreciate that you found enough time in your busy schedule to play housemaid for us." Gone is the unsure male waiting in the tree line. Cassian is all confidence and authority now. I understand, not for the first time, why he makes such a good general.

The man looks irritated, and his wings flap a bit behind him. It is no doubt some sign of territorialism. What a beast. Cassian seems uneffected.

"Cerdic, this is my companion Nesta Archeron. She will begin her training with Iver and the females tomorrow. I expect you will tell your men that they will be held accountable for any poor reports from her when evening comes." There is a steal behind his voice that sends a chill down my spine. It is not an unpleasant chill.

"Of course," Cerdic bows his head in indication of respect though it is done mockingly. "I'll let them know that their general does not wish to have his belongings tampered with."

"I belong to no one." I snap indignantly, "And any man who lays a finger on me will lose it or worse."

Cerdic sneers again and tries poorly to hide his laugh. This time and I feel a flame of rage so precise that I don't even try to stop myself from snapping my teeth at him. This just makes him laugh at me like I am no threat at all.

I feel my body's desire to lunge at him hits me like a brick and with alarming clarity I know just how I would do it. Elbow to the gut, dodge counter attack (likely with right fist), grab ears, pull down, knee to the nose, follow shortly with a foot to the groin. He would be immobile in a moment. I would whip the dagger from my hip easily and one movement and hold it to his throat. It would be so easy to just...do it. I am seeing red. I am swimming in it. I am trembling to move. Attack.

Cassian grips my hand tightly again in warning. I snap back to the present as though I have been doused in ice water. I blink up at him, shocked by my own reaction. The realization of what I almost did sweeps over me and I relax my fist. Instead of letting go Cassian simply weaves his fingers through mine and squeezes, pressing our palms together.

"If you don't mind my companion and I are tired after our long journey and would like to turn in. Thank you Cerdic, for turning down the covers for us." He winks at his subordinate like the cocky bastard he is and we stride past him into the doorway.

Once the door slams securely behind us and we hear Cerdic's frustrated sigh and stalking footsteps Cassian turns on me.

"What the hell was that?" He asks, true shock registering on his face.

"What do you mean what the hell was that? I was sticking up for myself you bastard." It is only then that I realize that our fingers are still intertwined. I snatch my hand away like it's done something without my permission and jab him in the chest with my pointer finger. "I. Don't. Need. Your. Help."

"Not that!" Cassian hisses in frustration. He catches my hand and holds it firmly against his chest so I will stop assaulting him with it. His expression is a mixture of shock, awe and… something else. "I meant that killing calm that swept over you a moment ago. I _felt_ it. You were about a second away from snapping that poor bastard's neck."

"Slitting his throat." I hiss back before I can stop myself.

That was a mistake. Cassian's hazel eyes widen in shock.

"Have you been trained before?" He demands pulling me closer to him by the hand, his arm reaching for my other elbow. My heart is beat erratically now. I am too close to his muscled chest. "Has this happened to you before?"

"Of course I've never been trained!" I yank myself free and push him back once again. "And no, if you must know, it hasn't ever happened before."

But even as I say it I know it's a lie. Of course it's happened. It happened the moment I got Made. While Cassian's broken body was bleeding on the floor and Elain was being pulled away from me it happened. I came out of the Cauldron knowing exactly how I would kill the king. I would have done it with my bare hands. The only thing that stopped me was Feyre's eyes, my eyes, reflecting back at me with so much shock and fear that I knew, I knew I would never get to him while leaving Elain alive... so just like that I... snapped out of it.

The memory shakes me. Shakes me down to my core and I feel myself pushing it away.

"I need a bath." I say after he is silent for a while. I didn't even realize that we are standing so close that I can feel his breath on my head. I'm taller now, much taller, but he still towers over me significantly.

"I'll show you your room." He says and reaches for me. For a moment I think it might be for an embrace and I am about to recoil but then I realize he is simply unhooking my cloak to hang it by the door. He shrugs off his own, revealing his wings. I try not to cringe away at the sight but he notices. He definitely notices. A shadow falls across his face as I try to hide my look of sorrow for him too late.

Pushing open a creaking wooden door I see that my room is indeed small, but cozy none the less. There is a fire lit in the hearth and the quilt is reminiscent of something we might have traded for in the market while mom was still alive. The bed is large enough for two but has clearly been set up for one, with slippers being warmed by the fire. It's….nice.

Cassian is turning to leave as I linger in the doorway, I feel his presence receding and my body reacts before I have the chance to shut it down.

"It _has_ happened before." I whisper, not turning to face him. It's enough though. He stops moving. He holds his breath. "I felt that way once...once I got out of Cauldron and I saw Elain. And once I...once I smelled your blood. It happened." I wring my hands together.

" What stopped you?" He breathes, whispering now too. He shocked with my transparency but remains hesitant, like my openness might snap shut at any moment. It might.

"My sisters." I say simply because it is true, but the look he gave me, the look downstairs when he caught me cringing at his wings means I owe him more. Owe him the truth. "And I saw that you were alive…. That you would live through it."

And with that I shut my door securely behind me.


	5. Chapter 5

_Thank you so much for your follows and reviews! I am so grateful! Sorry that this chapter took longer than anticipated but life got busy. I already have some of Nesta's chapter written so hopefully that will be up sooner rather than later. I did not intend for this chapter to be so full of sister feels...but here we are. Feyre and Elain had some things to work out. As always thoughts and reviews are always appreciate! You are all amazing and I hope you have a happy and safe 4th of July!_

Elain

My heart is thrumming with anxiousness and I cannot seem to stop tugging restlessly at the hems in my bedding. Despite the fact that my body and brain are screaming for sleep, I continue to stare wide eyed at the ceiling.

An unnerving quiet has settled over the manor and it would be peaceful to me if I didn't know about sentries manned at nearly every corner. The High Lord of Spring is nothing if not vigilant and that makes my life so, so much more difficult. The moon is high in the sky now, several hours having passed since I woke with Lucien at my side though it feels like it could have been days. My head is still reeling from all of Tamlin's pestering questions though I have been enjoying the solitude of my bed for a while now.

At first it had merely been Feyre, putting on a show of fretting and worried questions. And then it was Tamlin, wrapping his arm around my sister possessively and asking what I could remember from my location. Who had I talked to? Did I recognize any of them? Was I aware of the terrain of my location? How did they get me so close to the warded border of Spring? Did the males touch me? Did I touch any of the males?

I had answered all of the questions to the best of my ability, peppering my half truths with previously well thought out lies, trying to sound unrehearsed as possible. No, I had not had any contact with anyone. No, I had not been touched or harmed in any way. No, I didn't know anything about my location in the Night Court as I was being held in a room with no windows and a guarded door at all times.

I had tried not to let it show but as Tamlin's aggressive questioning continued my headache worsened. It pounded on my temples making me stutter over myself and clutch at my forehead in distress. The amulet seemed to burn against the bare skin of my leg making me feel horrifically suspicious. I felt as though it would burn through my clothes at any moment, revealing me for the spy that I was. And I just like that I was going to be ill, my stomach churning unhappily in my gut.

At that point Lucien, who had been sitting stoically in his wooden chair at my side the whole time, had reached into a bowl resting at my bedside to ring out a cool rag and pressed it gently on my forehead. He did so so swiftly I could only stare up at him in shock open mouthed and foolish. In that moment he had seemed to have remembered himself and snapped his hand back, returning to his chair in a rush as though I had tried to bite him.

"I was not aware that my sister was under an interrogation, dear." Feyre had said at this point, voice tight in poorly veiled annoyance. "She has been through a trauma. An enormous trauma! We have spent time questioning her before she has even had a chance to eat a meal or bathe!"

Tamlin had sighed then, clearly not pleased but willing to concede at Feyre's insistence. He had grumbled something about us continuing our conversation in the morning to which I agreed.

Feyre had shooed him and a reluctant looking Lucien out of the room then, instructing them to have someone prepare my bath and a warm meal. Lucien caught my eye as he stood in the doorway for a long moment, metal and russet eye alike whirring over my form. I pulled the rag from where I held it against my head and offered him a half smile out of the corner of my mouth. I shrugged as if to say " _Sisters? What are you to do with them?"_ and the softening of the worry lines that were pulling at his forehead told me he understood. I raised a tentative hand to wave at him and a smile had begun to form at the corner of his lips, and it was that moment that Feyre had slammed the door in his face with a huff.

"Honestly you'd think these High Fae males were raised to be barbarians."

I looked up at her and relief, beautiful joyous relief, washed over me. A moment alone. A moment to explain. Finally.

"Feyre I-" A sharp warning look from her had cut me off before I even began. The message was clear. _Not here. Not now._

"Elain I can't even tell you how worried we all were." She had said in that light and breezy tone that I did not recognize as my sister's. She sat on the side of the bed and grabbed my hand. "I can hardly believe you are here. And Nesta. We will get her back too." She had pressed a note into my hand then, her wary eyes not matching her tone.

I glanced down at the crumpled piece of paper. It simply read: _Tonight. I'll come for you._

Now as I lie here in bed, exhaustion attempting to overpower my body into sleep, I cannot imagine how she managed to write her note so swiftly without being seen. And then, with even more of a shock, I cannot believe that she has managed to write at all. The sister I once knew, the illiterate sister I had shared a bed with, huddled around the embers of a dying fire with, traded in the market with, no longer existed. She was now the High Lady of the Night Court, hero to many of the Fae in this land, and a complete stranger to me. I suppose in her defence I feel like a stranger to myself these days as well. Smuggling weapons, lying boldly, separating myself from Nesta. These are not things human Elain would have done.

For one horrific moment I let myself play with the iron ring around my finger and imagine what Eamon would think of me now. He would find me a monster. He would find me detestable, in appearance and in spirit. I don't know that I could even bring myself to blame him for it. I think of his bright, kind eyes, of his deep set dimples that always made an appearance when he caught sight of me in a room. Now I would never see him again. Never hold his hand, never let him steal a kiss in his parent's garden, never walk down the aisle in the white dress still hanging in my closet. And, I realize like a bucket of ice cold water being dumped over me as I lay in bed, it was a mercy he would never see me, never know me for what I now was. For if he did see me I don't know that either of us could bare it. Bare what I had become.

Without any warning Feyre simply _appears_ at the foot of my bed. I am so startled out of my melancholy thinking that scream forms in my throat and dies as Feyre is by my side in a flash, clamping a hand down over my mouth.

"For Cauldron sake Elain!" She hisses in my ear, clearly annoyed.

I pry her hand off of me and look up at her apologetically. The moon shines through the window, illuminating her face in a pale, cold light. I find myself thinking of what she must have been like in Valaris, alive with music and life and her love for Rhys. She is beautiful now of course, she has always been beautiful. But there, there in the most incredible city I have ever seen, she would have been radiant. Now she just looks tired, tired and angry.

"Hang on tight." She says, catching hold of my hand.

I am no stranger to winnowing. Over the past few months I have traveled plenty of places hand in hand with Mor or Azriel but there is still something every time that unsettles me about it. It's not pleasant. I squeeze my eyes shut and clutch desperately at her hand until my knuckles are white.

The trees looming above us are so dense that they almost seem to block out any sight of the night sky. I shiver as the night wind tugs at the end of my long and messy braid.

"We don't have much time so you better start talking." Feyre rounds on me. I notice that she too is in her night clothes though somehow she still manages to look commanding and powerful.

"Well…." I hardly know where to begin. How does one summarize a plan so detailed that it took months to perfect into one simple conversation? I hurry on, the words tumbling out of my mouth in a rush. "Rhys knew you were going to need a way out. When the time comes...He didn't want to risk sending you any notes, especially if his magic is still be tracked... because it might compromise you...obviously." I run a frustrated hand through the hairs that have managed to escape from my braid and are now whipping me in the face. "It took Armen and Az weeks doing Cauldron knows what to get you this."

I pull the amulet off from around my neck, where I had secured it tightly after my bath, and hold it out to my sister. It's magic thrums even more powerfully than usual, like it is reacting to her presence. Feyre's fingers reach out for it, like it is calling to her somehow, but she hesitates just before her fingers brush it's ancient face.

"What is it?" Her voice sounds reserved, but it also holds a note of unmistakable wonder.

"An amplifier. Supposedly Miryam's family diadem? Only one's worthy of its power is able to wield it, or so legend says. She lost it in the war just before her disappearance."

Her hand closes around mine and the amplifier buzzes so powerfully that I have to turn my eyes away from it. Feyre says nothing but her eyes are fixated on our hands where the leather band that fastened the diadem to my neck is now slipping out between our palms.

We are silent for a long while before I feel like I can actually breathe and continue. "Rhys said that if you were to use this, to truly tap into its power and merge it with your own...the King of Hybern would not stand a chance. And you...you would come home to him in once piece."

Feyre finally takes hold of the medallion, freeing me from its weight. I would breathe a sigh of relief if I wasn't so worried for her. Her face is severe, more severe than usual, and she is turning the medallion over and over in her hand like she is not sure what to make of it.

"Do you think it will work?" I breathe, concerned all of our planning was for nothing.

"Yes I think it will work." Feyre snaps, finally clasping Miryam's diadem in her fist. "But that doesn't mean it was worth you coming here. ' _A mate for a mate'?_ You can't be fucking serious! I'm not letting you spend a day longer in the Spring Court than necessary."

I blush at this. I haven't actually had a conversation with anyone about what Lucien had said to me that horrible night, not really.

"Cassian thought Lucien might provide me protection. That if I played my part you might actually have some real company."

Feyre is stalking toward me, eyes a blaze of ice, just like Nesta. Always so much like Nesta. "Lucien can't even protect himself here much less you. I'm getting you out of here. Right now."

She is clasping my wrist again in a demanding and forceful grasp and I find myself batting her away, crying out in protest before I even know what is happening. She is surprised, so surprised that I manage to wrench myself from her grip with a violent tug.

"I am not going anywhere." I'm surprised by my own voice when it comes out like a snarl. "I know you think that you are the only one capable of making sacrifices for this family but you're not Feyre. You're not. And Cauldron help me I know that you are a phenomenally powerful High Lady but that doesn't mean you don't need me."

Feyre's eyes have filled with tears and I notice that my own choked voice is filled with emotion. Emotion of years between us that have been left unspoken. Hot tears are making a path down my own cheeks.

"You were the only one who was strong after mom. The only one who held us together. But we are not those girls any more. _You_ are not that girl any more." I am the one grasping for her hand now, and I am so, so pleased to find that she clutches back, "Let me be here. Not for Lucien and not for the war, but for you." I thread my fingers through hers, tears running down both of our faces in earnest. "Let me be here for you."

And before I know what is happening Feyre is crushing me to her chest and we are crying into each others hair. Crying for the girls we used to be. Crying for the human futures we would never had that had turned into so much more.

"I'm sorry." I whisper into her hair, chest shaking from the cold wind and emotion, "I'm so sorry I was never there for you. But I am here now. We are here now."

And Feyre does not say anything but she pulls me closer, the necklace in her hand pressing into the back of my nightgown so tightly that I can feel the thrumming of it's power through the thick fabric.


	6. Chapter 6

_I am back with an extra long chapter for you. Seriously could have made this chapter last forever. I am in love with Nessian. Oh. My. Goodness. Anyway thank you all for the lovely responses to this story and the kind words while life was rather overwhelming for me. I seriously appreciate all of your support and I am so sorry it took so long. I love reading your reviews and I am seriously grateful for everyone who takes the time to write them. The story is going exciting places people. Exciting places._

Nesta

I sleep better than I could have ever expected. Something about the smell of the sheets and the dying embers of the warm fire lull me into a sense of calm that is almost unsettling. I can hear Cassian's steady breathing a few rooms down and somehow the sound anchors me. It washes over me with every inhale like the tide on the sea. As much as I want to be annoyed by it, I let it sweep me away. It is not long before sleep completely overtakes me.

The next morning there is a sharp rap at my door before dawn. Hints of morning light have begun to peek over the horizon but my room is otherwise completely dark. Early. Too early.

I find myself intent on grumbling under my breath as I sit up in my bed. Months of no sleep because of a weeping Elain and this is how I am greeted in the morning after my first decent night's rest.

I kick the covers off of my legs and stomp loudly to the door cursing none too quietly. When I fling the door open and place an angry hand on my hip I am surprised to see that there is no one there. Instead, a pile of clothes, fighting leathers to be exact, lay at the threshold of my door. I bite down on the disappointment I feel bubbling in my chest. I had fully expected a tired Cassian, eyes still blurry from sleep and hair a mess from his pillow, to be leering at me from the doorway. This disappointment dissipates quickly and I roll my eyes when I spy the note scrawled in messy writing that lays atop my delivery.

 _Nesta,_

 _Wear these. I'm confident they will fit you perfectly as I gave the seamstress the measurements myself. Tomos will be here at sunrise to collect you. There is breakfast in the kitchen. - C_

 _PS: You snore._

I gather the clothing up with a huff and throw it in a pile on my bed. For a few moments I debate trying it on at all. I ought to find the most impractical dress in my pack and wear that just to spite him. I should dump this one in the fireplace and set it ablaze. I consider doing just that. I even begin riffling through my bag in a desperate attempt to find something with frivolous amounts of lace, but eventually reason sets in. Cassian had warned me that I might not be seeing much of him while we were here. The likelihood that he actually has time to assist me with training might be slim. I would only be making myself look like a fool which would only provide him with endless amusement.

Maneuvering myself into the fighting leathers proves to be more of a challenge than I would have thought and by the time I am fastening them at the back of my neck I am thoroughly irritated. Still, when I catch my reflection in the mirror hung on the wall I have to catch my breath.

Cassian was right about one thing: the leathers fit to my body perfectly. Almost too perfectly. The tightness throughout my legs and chest would be completely inappropriate in respectable company. Still, something about the dark leathers and how they contour to my frame makes me feel fierce. I could _move_ in these. Move properly. I could run, strike, flex, _fight_ without useless skirts or corsets getting in the way.

There are black gloves as well as a belt that I fasten securely at my hips. I pull my hair back into a loose braid to keep its honey colored strands from falling into my face. When I look at my reflection again I almost don't recognize myself. The woman standing in front of me, clad in leather and shadows looks strong, cold, and lethal. _Good._

I make my way downstairs to the kitchen and I am munching on an apple when there is a knock at the front door. Sighing deeply before answering the door with a scowl.

"Lady Archeron?" A nervous looking Fae stands in the doorway. He is not much taller than me and something about the freckles dotting his cheekbones makes him look less intimidating than I think he would like to be.

I say nothing. Instead I continue to take him in. He is lean but not skinny. Strong but not overly muscular. He has wings. Glorious dark wings spread wide behind him. They are held high, so high that they are shielding him from the gentle rain coming from the sky. He gives me a lopsided grin. It makes him look ridiculous wings or no wings.

"I'm Tomos". He says unceremoniously, shoving his hand forward awkwardly. "Commander Cassian instructed me to collect you."

I quirk an eyebrow at him. From my understanding Illyrian males were insufferable war mongers. Their lot were filled with rapists, murderers, and crooks. This unbalanced, cheerful individual hardly seemed to fit the mold and that made me feel uncertain. I was prepared to deal with a scoundrel. I was not prepared to deal with someone who was actually _pleasant._

I don't take his hand as I brush past him and slam the door behind me.

"I'm Nesta. Don't call me Lady Archeron." Lady Archeron was my mother's name. Not mine. Never mine.

"Right. Well Nesta if you just follow me I'll take you to your troop."

I fall into step behind him. He chatters about the camp, how nice it is to have me, and how much the girls have been looking forward to working with me but I say nothing. Instead I attempt to take in everything around me.

The mud is endless as are the armed and winged males. Some of the males are sparring. Some are hammering down steal. Some are already gambling and drinking in the corner. All of them are repulsive and all of them throw us sour glances as we walk by. I notice more than one of them spits at Tomos boots but he continues chattering as though he doesn't even notice. Every single one of them puts me on edge and I have to clamp down on the instinct to strike them. I am clenching my fists so hard that my palms are bleeding by the time we get to the edge of camp.

We are nearly out in the woods Cassian and I rode through the night before when Tomos stops and throws me a smile over his shoulder.

"We're here." He gestures toward the clearing ahead of us and the trees looming beyond.

What lays before me might be considered a makeshift training ground in a pinch but from the impressive amount of space and unused weapons I just walked by in the heart of the camp this set up is laughable. There are a few cheaply made swords propped against a nearby tree, their blades starting to sink into the mud from lack of use. There are sparring sticks scattered haphazardly throughout the whole space but even they are well worn and nicked. It takes me only a few seconds to notice that there are no long range weapons to speak of. No bows, no crossbows, not even throwing knives.

My nostrils flare in anger and I am about to ask if this is a _fucking_ joke when I hear a sharp, humorless laugh ring out behind me.

"Impressed by our extensive training grounds are you _Lady Archeron_?"

There is a girl, and Illyrian girl, making her way towards us. Tomos gives her a smile but even I can tell it's half hearted. She wears fighting leathers that mirror mine and I can't help but notice the gold handled gleaming daggers that hang from the belt on her hip. I want to know where she got them.

"No." I say flatly wrinkling my nose at the rugged area. "I am not."

She snorts in amusement at this, drawing nearer still. She does not look much older than me, though of course there is no way to be sure. Her dark hair is pulled behind her in a tight bun though some has escaped and is plastered to her temples from the ever present drizzle. Despite her sour expression it is impossible to ignore that she is truly breathtakingly beautiful.

"I'm sure it doesn't compare to whatever you got used to in the Night Court." She says this with venom, unmistakable venom. I bristle.

"And you are?" I am sure to give her my most uninterested look. Whatever game she is playing I will not be a part of it. I am here to train and I _will not_ be distracted. I didn't abandon both of my sisters to the Spring Court for nothing.

"Mayren," Tomos says somewhat desperately as she begins to almost snarl at me outright. "Where are the others?"

Mayren's eyes fall to the ground momentarily before she centers herself and says "They have taken to the skies for aerial training. They shouldn't be long now."

"I see." Tomos looks wholly uncomfortable, scuffing his boot along in the mud and not meeting either of our eyes.

"Thank you for delivering me Tomos." I say coldly, fists clenched at my sides "I can find my way back in the evening." I don't want to look weak in front of this Illyrian warrior. I don't want to seem like I need the help of a halfway incompetent male. I want to prove myself as a threat. Or at least as worthy of being considered one.

"Yes." Mayren practically purrs. "Thank you for delivering us Cassian's little pet Tomos."

It doesn't take long for Tomos to take his leave with an awkward wave in our direction.

"Not flying today?" I ask Mayren sharply once we are alone. I throw my long braid over my shoulder and focus my gaze on her fully. I will not be intimidated and I will certainly not be referred to as anyone's pet.

"No." Mayren replies icily. To her credit her eyes only stray from mine for the briefest moment before meeting them again. If I was still human I might have missed it. "My late husband severed my wings as a gift on the eve of our wedding. Better chance of a woman to produce offspring that way. I am bound to the ground." Her eyes roam my form. "Much like you and your noble companion."

It's a taunt, I know it is a taunt and yet my spine stiffens at the mention of Cassian and my lip pulls back in a snarl before I can stop myself.

This does not go unnoticed by Mayren who smiles with a feline purr. "So it's true. The great commander is as useless as a commoner." I am growling in earnest now. Something feral in me rising to the surface. It makes Mayren laugh, her dark eyes dancing with joyless amusement. She stalks toward me like I am her prey. She looks positively wild. "Serves him right. The great Night Court may spout ideals of equality and peace but it is the Illyrians they use to fight their wars and it is our wings that get clipped when they turn their heads and hold themselves in the safety of their mountain for fifty years like cowards. Cassian deserves his useless wings until he is cold in his grave."

My body reacts before I even realize what is happening. I have tackled Mayren to the ground with a roar so loud it shakes the branches of the trees above us. Mud flies everywhere as she struggles beneath me uselessly. My hands are around her neck and I am squeezing. Squeezing _hard._ She is gasping and batting at my arms, lashing out with her legs, baring her fangs at me. She stands no chance. I hardly notice her blows. Her eyes are wide with fear and she looks truly shocked.

"You understand _nothing. You know nothing."_ I am seeing red. I am seeing nothing. I am nothing but blood and rage and pain and I am going to kill her. _Oh Cauldron I am going to kill her._ She has given up struggling and is gasping for breath, clutching at my hands locked around her neck. I am equal parts exhilarated and horrified. If I hold her for just a little while longer the life will wink out of her.

"Nesta." A voice rings out through my rage. "Nesta, sweetheart, let go."

Warm hands are on my shoulders tugging at me gently, desperately. Cassian's scent washes over me. I recognize it instantly. He always smells like smoke from the embers of a fire and salt and pine. I breathe it in inhaling deeply, my heart still hammering overly fast in my chest. I blink for a moment and his hand is running down my back, roaming in soothing circles. My hands loosen around Mayren's throat.

"That's it sweetheart. Breathe." I take another deep breath and his scent is right there.

I gain full control and release Mayren completely. Her head lolls back into a puddle. Her nose is bleeding so hard it is running down her lips and chin. I don't even remember striking her.

Cassian is hauling me to my feet and off of her body but instead of being horrified like she should me Mayren throws her head back in the mud and laughs. It's not a bitter or manic laugh at all but one born out of true amusement. It's like I've just told her the funniest joke she's ever heard instead of tried to leave her a corpse in the mud. There is blood in her teeth and she looks positively wild.

Cassian's arms are locked securely around me, holding me back if it comes to that. This seems to amuse Mayren even more. And I am snarling at her again.

"I think that's enough training for you today." He says, lifting me off my feet and pulling me backwards as I snarl at Mayren again.

"We might actually stand a chance now you know." Mayren calls after us from the ground as she spits blood on the ground. "With you Nesta Archeron the four of us actually stand a chance."

Cassian says nothing as he tugs me forcefully by the elbow to our little makeshift home. I let him lead me, trudging limply behind him, suddenly exhausted. There is blood on my knuckles, the sheer force of my blows cutting through my leather gloves. I don't know if the blood is mine or Mayren's. Cauldron. What have I become.

Cassian does not say a word until the front door closes securely behind us. Even then he takes a deep breath before running a hand through his rain soaked hair.

"So that went well."

I rip the gloves from my hand and throw them on the floor near the doorway. I can't meet his eyes even though I know he is searching for my gaze. What can I say? What could I possibly say? I'm so frustrated I want to punch something, punch him, but Cauldron only knows I might wind up trying to decapitate him too.

Cassian tries again. "Nesta..." His brow is furrowed and the look of concern written plainly across his face is so genuine that I cannot bare it. I cannot look at him.

I think if I don't run my hand through the brick wall I might combust. I am burning burning burning from the inside out.

"Leave me the fuck alone." Cassian cries out after me but I don't listen. I only bound up the stairs and slam my bedroom door violently behind me.

I curl up in bed for the rest of the day, falling in and out of sleep. I don't know if my body is truly exhausted or if I have just lost the will to stay awake any longer but I don't fight it. In my moments of lucidness I seriously consider demanding to go back to training but then I think about the way my hands so easily closed around Mayren's throat, and how easily I could have squeezed the life from her without a second thought, and I think it's probably best if I never go back at all. It's best if I never show my face again.

Before I know it the sun has gone down, Cassian is still not back, and I am overly restless from my napping. I pad down the stairs soundlessly, unwilling to stay in the comfort of my room any longer. I find a meal of warm stew, fresh bread, and some sort of tart for dessert waiting for me on the kitchen table. Someone must have come to drop it by while I was sleeping. Rain is still pattering on the rooftop and the stew looks steaming hot and utterly delicious. I spoon some into a bowl, surprised at how ravenous I really am. I eat an entire portion before filling it up again to trudge back up the stairs. There is still no sign of Cassian and it bothers me though I can't honestly name why his absence irritates me so much. Perhaps I've finally chased him off for good. It would serve me right. The thought hits my stomach like a ton of icy bricks. Perhaps he isn't coming back tonight. Perhaps he is with another female. I bend the spoon in my hand in half without realizing it and decide that it is better to keep busy and not dwell on him at all.

I consider wandering out of the house to start a fight or to gamble or to drink but almost immediately I realize how idiotic that idea actually is and decide firmly against it. Instead I unpack my meager travel pack only to find that my clothes are still soaked through from our travels. With a huff I light a fire in my bedroom fireplace and hang my almost useless wardrobe up to dry. It is not until I have finished with this task that I realize how truly vile my own appearance must be. I am still wearing my fighting leathers stained with blood and mud and my hair has almost completely fallen out of its braid. How disgraceful. I might as well be Feyre.

I busy myself with running a hot bath and go through the contents of a few old rooms until I find an overly large knitted sweater that swallows me so completely with it's length that it can easily double as a nightgown. The bastards didn't even think to pack me a decent set of night things.

By the time I have soaked in the bath for over an hour and scrubbed every inch of my body with the mint soap perched on the side of the tub I feel _almost_ content. I brush through my wet hair with my fingers and slip the oversize sweater over my head. It's soft and warm and so large that it is slipping off of one shoulder and I have to cuff the sleeves several times before my fingertips are even visible. Something about the feel of it against my bare skin comforts me as I klutch it to myself as I slip downstairs once again intent on finding a book to read to keep my overly active mind occupied.

I almost shriek in surprise when I see Cassian slouched in an armchair in the sitting room. His back is to me and his head is in his hands. He is slumped over, resting his elbows on his knees and is massaging his brow in a way that tells me somehow pulling me off of Mayren in a bloodlust filled rage was somehow the easiest part of his day. He hardly even perks up when he hears me approach though his wings twitch in response to my footfalls.

I attempt not to feel overly self conscious of my bare feet or legs. The sweater had been an improper choice but there was no retreating now. I would just look like a fool.

"Do you have any decent literature around here or am I to simply waste away from boredom?" I try to sound as uninterested as possible as I continue, stepping before him and into the dim light of the sitting room. "If you think I will simply busy myself with housework you are gravely mistaken."

He finally raises his head from his hands to take me in. I almost audibly inhale at the sight. He is exhausted. So exhausted that it is written clearly on his face that is usually so carefully guarded. And he is sad. Endlessly, excruciatingly sad. Something that feels like a knife twists in my chest.

He takes me in slowly. His eyes wandering from mine, down my form, and back up again. They linger too long, far too long, at my exposed shoulder where the sweater has slipped down. Something like fire ignites in those tired eyes.

"That," he growls, licking his lips hungrily, "is my sweater, Nesta Archeron."

I huff, pretending not to notice his change in countenance, "Well it's mine now. And if you don't give me something decent to read I'm stealing at least two more."

He laughs at this and I am relieved, so relieved, to realize that it is a real, genuine, laugh. "I'd gladly give you all my shirts, sweetheart You wear them better than I could."

I pretend not to flush as his eyes zero in on my exposed legs. Mistake. This was a mistake.

"Is that a no to the books then? Because I swear I'm going to start gambling away your precious High Lord's inheritance for a chance at entertainment if I don't find something to do."

It's his turn to huff now and he lazily points upstairs. "Check Az's room. Third door on the right. He usually has some reading material stocked in there."

"Thank the Mother." I wave my hands in the air, and turn on my heels but not before throwing him a cheeky grin over my shoulder. "I'll help myself to some of his shirts too while I'm at it. I'd wager they're washed more thoroughly. "

Cassian is up from his chair and blocking the stairway in an instant. His gaze is playful, far from the morose individual I had found only moments ago, but the fire in his eyes is back in earnest as if there is something else inside him burning through the teasing tone.

"I'd really rather you not do that sweetheart." He says practically purring.

I gulp but manage to croak out. "Why ever not? I can make use of his books but not his shirts? That hardly makes any sense."

"Because," he takes a step forward. My treacherous legs won't move, won't back up. They are rooted in their spot. " I like it when you smell like _me."_

Cassian draws closer still. Slowly, achingly slowly, he lowers his head to my neck, brushing the tip of his nose to the spot right behind my ear. And my heart is racing. Racing so violently that I know it's embarrassingly loud to both of us. He can probably feel it thrumming through his leathers as he presses his body closer to mine. And I am water, melting at his touch. And I am fire burning burning burning. He drags his nose down slowly, barely grazing my skin until it reaches where my neck and shoulder meet. It is not until he reaches that bare skin that he truly inhales, breathes deep, long and shuttering. And something changes then, his eyes growing instantly feral, his heart rate increasing.

We have been here before but somehow this time it is different. I can hear his heartbeat as he can hear mine, I can feel every breath of a touch as his chest grazes against me. I can feel my instincts answer his so violently it is almost impossible to resist. I arch my shoulder to his touch and turn my head to the side. Allowing him access.

He is gripping me in earnest now, my sweater sliding even lower down my arm in response to his desperate hold.

He doesn't even bother with his lips this time as his hot tongue slides along the crook of my neck some wild part of him actually humming with contentment as he does so.

" I want…" His I feel his strangled whisper against my tender skin. I let out a needy heady breath and he takes me shoulder between his lips and starts sucking, trailing hot scalding kisses toward my collar bone. "Nesta I want…."

Whatever it is he can have it. I will give it to him. In this moment, I would deny him nothing. In fact I have half a mind to beg him to take it all and to please _please_ stop teasing.

"What is it you want Cassian?" I reply, rather breathlessly, hardly able to control my eyes from rolling into the back of my head as he nips at the skin behind my ear. My hands press against his broad chest, feeling his thunderous heartbeat under my palm. "Are you going to take it?"

My body is pressed entirely against his now and I don't know when I pushed him back against the railing of the stairs but I have. His breathing is as ragged as mine.

His hand is in my wet hair, threading it through his fingers and he pulls away for a moment look at me. His lips are a breath away and I feel myself leaning up toward them. I've lost all control. I don't know my own name. All I know that with him this close and his scent so strong in my nose it is easy to forget. It is easy to forget who I am and where my sisters are and what I almost did today. It is easy to forget the world we live in or the war that is brewing. And I want this. I want to be nameless and forgetful and nothing in his arms. I want a moment of reprieve from being Nesta Archeron.

Somehow, with these thoughts whirling around in my brain and the scent of my need so thick in the air he snaps up straight, his face that was ravenous moments before is now serious, and honestly a bit angry. He pushes me away, gently but firmly. "What I want, love," he says sounding entirely different from before, "is to have a real godsdamned conversation with you that doesn't end in you cursing at me and shutting me out. What I want is to talk about what happened today and yesterday and figure out how to help you." He runs a frustrated hand through his mess of hair as he struggles to find the words to say. I'm not sure I want him to say them. "I want to hear what you think of the state of our soldiers and what to do about our shortage of arms. I want to tell you about my stupid day and ask you questions that get real fucking answers. You avoided me for months Nesta, _months._ And then you come in here wearing nothing but my sweater and smelling like my soap and...it's not fair you know. It's...Cauldron...Nesta it's not fair. You owe me a real conversation."

And it's like he dunked me in ice water. Whatever soul possessing arousal I felt for him moments ago is gone and replaced with an indignant rage. I turn away from him on my bare heels instantly wet hair whipping my face as I go.

"Fine." I say to him over my shoulder, "but first, get me a drink."


	7. Chapter 7

Elain

I awake suddenly to bright sun shining through my windows and someone wrapping impatiently at my bedroom door. Feyre and I had come back to my room shortly after our adventure in the woods once I had gained some semblance of control over my tears. She had winnowed me back with the ghost of a smile and we had fallen in be shortly after. We were a pile of ruffled nightgowns and curls in one bed, just like we used to be when we were children. Currently though my bed is achingly vacant.

She must have woken early and taken her leave without disturbing me, probably having to smooth her absence over with Tamlin. The thought makes my blood run cold.

"Lady Elain?" A female voice I don't know calls from the other side of the door sounding curt.

For some reason it makes me retract in fear. As far as Rhys and Feyre are concerned everyone here is a threat. Everyone here is just waiting for me to make one mistake, to say one wrong thing, before they have me strung up or barbarically dismissed.

"Lady Elain?" The voice asks again, somewhat softer this time. "I'm afraid it's time for breakfast. Well over time for breakfast actually. I've been sent to ready you for the day."

"Yes of course," I say weakly trying to steady my suddenly racing heart. "Come in."

A kind but serious looking Fae bustles into the room and introduces herself as Alis. She has numerous pastel colored dresses draped over her arm but their large skirts do not heed her graceful entry into the room. I stare up at her, hair a mess from sleep and eyes still blinking in the late morning sun and she stares right back. In fact she takes me in for a long moment, her eyes scanning every inch of me to the point of rudeness before she abruptly turns away and busies herself with filling a basin for me to wash in. We both remain silent. I can't even begin to pretend to know what to say.

I rinse my face with warm water and soap that smells of lavender and let Alis begin fussing with my hair. We have had servants before, having help getting ready is not new to me, but for some reason I feel awkward and fidgety. When she braids half of my hair in a sort of crown at the top of my head, leaving the rest to fall down my back in impressively long curls, I think human Elain would have been delighted. I, however, can only focus on the tips of my pointed ears protruding from my intricate hairstyle. I find High Fae features beautiful on so many others, Nesta and Feyre especially, but somehow I feel that I manage to make it look awkward and unnatural.

Alis catches me looking at my own reflection and purses her lips. I'm grateful she doesn't say anything but instead tucks a large purple flower behind one ear. It is beautiful and in all my days of gardening I have never seen its equal. It hides at least one pointed ear at least.

"It's lovely Alis." I say, fingers ghosting over it's petals. "What do you call it?"

"Lily of the Night." She states somewhat gruffly from over her shoulder where she is fishing through the dresses she brought me. "Stands for new beginnings here. I thought you might…" She clears her throat of whatever emotion is caught there. " I thought it might be appropriate for you first day here as a Lady of the Spring Court."

I don't know whether to laugh or to cry. I am anything but "a Lady of the Spring Court" I'm not even sure you could consider me "a Lady of the Night Court" I'm just Elain, just a human girl stuck in a body that is not hers who is desperately trying to do the right thing for once. I don't belong anywhere. Not on this side of the wall. Not on the other side of the wall either at this point, which stings me now more that it probably should.

Still, the flower is beautiful and it's intricate petals captivate me. "It's perfect." I wring my hands together and stare at my knuckles. "Thank you. It's a thoughtful touch."

I don't know why my voice sounds so small.

"Let's get you into this one. It will be perfect on you." Alis says again, presenting me with a gorgeous lilac colored dress with a full flowing skirt and a low neckline I know will be flattering.

It's not long before I stand before the giant oak doors of the dining room, gazing up and them and feeling more small and insignificant than I ever have in my life. I'm grateful that Alis has put me in sensible flat shoes beneath my layers of flowing skirts because my knees are shaking and that makes my steps unsteady enough.

Alis stands beside me, steadying with her presence, and with a fearful glance at her over my shoulder, I push the doors open with a shaking hand.

I'm not sure what I was expecting. The descriptions of my allies in the Night Court had me anticipating something more gruesome. I certainly wasn't expecting for everything to feel so….pleasant.

The dining room itself had large windows floor to ceiling that let in the late morning light in glowing and bursting beams. The large dining table was gorgeously set with white placements and gold trimming. The centerpieces and walls simply _bloomed_ with immaculately coordinated greenery. The large arrangement of flower at the center of the dining table almost took my breath away. I would have been likely to stare at it for hours if there weren't more interesting things in the room to look at.

Lucien is sat across the table from Feyre, head whipped in my direction and fork clattering to his plate. Tamiln, in all of his golden beauty, sits at the head of the table, pouring over some ancient looking documents as he sips on his tea. He looks positively civilized in a way Rhys could never manage. He is handsome, and strong, and everything that makes me wish he was the sort of man to help us end this war. And then I remember my head being forced under, into a Cauldron filled with boiling water. I remember the voices that waited for me there, that called out to me in the darkness as I thrashed around begging for a breath. The realization of who this High Lord is and exactly what he did to me becomes excruciatingly clear. The appearance of goodness is not goodness itself and I cannot let the delights of this court outweigh my judgement.

"Good morning," I try to say as brightly as I can as I take my seat next to my sister. There are a multitude of open seats and the giant dining table, including one on the either side of Lucien but being in close proximity to Feyre is the only thing that might steady my unease.

Tamiln doesn't even look up from his documents. Now that I am closer I can see that he is pouring over them with a level of fervor that makes him seem a bit unhinged. His eyes are almost manic they way they dart around the page looking this way and that. The teacup in his hand is shaking slightly.

Everyone remains silent so I attempt to catch the eye of anyone other than Lucien who stares at me across the table, only slightly obscured by the massive centerpiece. Feyre offers me only a brief smile and squeezes my hand under the table without meeting my gaze. I look away and busy myself with buttering a piece of toast.

"Apologies for my tardiness this morning. Alis was kind enough to wake me. If not for her I fear I might have slept through lunch." I say, trying to ease some of the awkwardness. "The past weeks must be catching up to me."

This must be the wrong to say because for the first time Tamlin seems to note my presence.

"Ah yes," He says, all business, setting down his teacup to fold his hands on the table top. "Elain." He takes in my appearance, noting the Spring Court style with approval, "I must apologize for my behavior last night. As you can expect we were all quite shocked by your appearance. And though I would like to meet with you further regarding your experience in the Night Court, I'm afraid Feyre and I will be indisposed for the rest of the day."

I am grateful to be free from another bought of questioning. I'm so relieved by it in fact I can almost feel my shoulders visibly relax. "Indisposed?" I ask, trying to sound the right mixture of curious and disappointed.

"Attempting to keep the peace, no matter what the cost, seems to be a time consuming business." Feyre says dryly. It's a wonder Tamlin misses the venom behind it.

I don't know what to say to this so I simply tuck a loose strand of hair behind my ear and pour cream in my tea.

"There is no need for your sister to be a part of such foul affairs, my love." Tamiln states and there is a bite behind his words that says she should say no more on the matter. I wonder what ripples my appearance has caused in the other courts. Could news have traveled so fast? Tamlin smiles at me but it's an empty smile. The sort I might offer an individual I knew I must greet but had no high opinion of. Could I still smell like my allies in the Night Court? Can he sense my affection for my new friends? Cauldron, could he scent Mor or Azriel on me? Is that the way these Fae senses worked? I could certainly smell Rhysand's scent lingering around my sister...or more like intertwined with my sister. It's a wonder Tamlin hasn't noticed.

"Anyway Elain, you have a very important gathering to consider." Tamlin's eyes are suddenly playful. He sips on his tea and eyes Lucien with a sense of childishness I could not have expected of him. He continues looking his friend, with a tone of teasing that can only come from years familiarity. "If wars are time consuming things than parties must be worse. Though I am likely to think you have the better end of the deal, even if you do end the day announcing your matehood to this sorry bastard."

"Tamlin." Lucien states suddenly. The single word comes out like a bite. It's harsh and something about his stance sets me on edge. Every muscle his taunt and the set of his jaw is hard, like he is grinding his teeth. Is that his heart beating unpleasantly faster or is it mine? I can't seem to tell the difference. I throw a glance at my sister and notice that Feyre's knuckles have gone white around her silverware from gripping it too hard.

Tamlin does not seem to notice everyone else's discomfort. He is still chuckling. "I never thought you to be shy on such matters Lucien. I'm sure Elain will be elated to proceed with your...special dinner. I'll even let you leave for the Southern manner for at least a week afterward. No one here will want to deal with all the ruckus to follow anyway."

I haven't a clue what Tamlin is talking about but I feel Lucien's anger spike. I actually physically feel it. Feel it in my chest so strongly it almost winds me. I look at my hands folded in my lap, wishing I knew how to winnow myself away or make myself disappear. I'm used to people talking about me as though I am not there, but I had expected it to be different here, though I couldn't say why.

"Tamlin. I said that's enough." Lucien is standing now and he slams his fists on the table. His forearms are exposed, his shirt rolled up casually to his elbows. His shoulders are hunched but tight. I have the sudden undeniable urge to go to him and lay a hand on him. I wish I had sat next to him. I want to catch Lucien's eye to somehow convey that I'm alright, and that any embarrassment or anger for my benefit is unnecessary, but he is not looking at me. His icy gaze is resting on Tamlin, top lip pulled back in a snarl.

Tamlin has the decency to look shocked at least, staring blankly back at his friend like he is a man he does not know. I wonder if he does know this version of Lucien. This version that has the audacity to publicly chide his High Lord. Feyre is looking at Lucien with shock and what could be awe.

The males do not break their stares. "I will help the Spring Court in anyway that I can during these tumultuous times of course." I say, smiling brightly and trying to turn some attention back toward myself instead of at Lucien, whose anger is still pulsing through me. I rise from my place, Feyre following suit after me. I can tell she is not pleased with the exchange either from the set of her jaw. I will have to be sure to ask her about what Tamlin was talking about later today. I'm certainly not going to mention it to Lucien.

"For now though, Alis has promised to show me to the gardens and I don't wish to keep you from your busy schedule." I take my leave from the breakfast table, bidding each of them goodbye and even offering Tamlin a curtsy. Lucien looks concerned, his eyebrows furrowed pulling his whole face into a frown. My toast is laying uneaten on my plate and I dismiss myself with a stomach growling in protest.

I don't feel like I am really breathing steadily until I make it to the courtyard in the back of the manor. The air is sweet with the fragrance of many blooming things and it is almost too much for my new Fae nose to process. The sun is high in the sky and the warmth of it seeps into my skin pleasantly. I check to see that I am alone and lean against the manor wall, closing my eyes and turning my face towards the sun's warmth.

It's odd to be so warm when back home is probably in the midst of autumn, or even the first freeze of winter. I wonder if they have already done the Harvest Festival in town. And then I wonder if father has made it back from his trip. Mother, what was he going to think when he came home to our mess of a house? Would there be someone waiting for him there? Ready to snatch him from his bed and drag him to his death just like they did to us? Surely Feyre had thought of a way to warn him. Surely he would never see our coasts again if he knew what was good for him.

Alis stands patiently beside me, proving to be not much of a conversationalist. She asks me no questions but somehow her steady presence is comforting. I inhale again, deeply, smiling as my nose adjusts to the overwhelming onslaught of fragrances.

"Shall we walk?" I ask Alis, who simply nods to me in a response. She is looking at me oddly out of the corner of her eye. I share a small smile with her. We've hardly made it two steps before laugh in delight and bend down to pluck a vibrantly colored daisy from the grass.

"For your hair." I hold it out to Alis. An offer of friendship. "I can make you a whole crown if you like. It'd look lovely weaved through your curls."

Alis snorts at this but she is looking at me in wonder. "Are you sure you're related to Feyre? She tried to string me up just for entering her room when she first got here."

I continue smiling at this but something about the statement makes me feel awkward. Alis is not wrong. I am nothing like Feyre. I have none of her ice, none of her hard strength. And perhaps here I will need it. Perhaps here I will not be an asset without it. The thought is troubling to me.

Alis must notice me deflate because she takes the daisy from my outstretched hand and tucks it neatly behind her ear. I beam at her.

I have decided that Alis must have endless amounts of patience, because, in the hours that follow she doesn't seem the least bit affected by my stopping every few feet to kneel down and examine an unfamiliar bloom more closely. We've haven't even made it a great distance from the door when I feel my stomach do a flip that is becoming more familiar. Lucien's spicy scent proceeds him, even among the overwhelming scent of the flowers before me. I try to rise from my crouched position on the ground before he comes through the door, but I am in the middle of righting myself when he appears in the doorway.

"Elain," he calls out to me gently, dipping his head in greeting, not quite a gentlemanly bow, but a gesture that almost seeks to be. His gaze drifts to Alis, who is eying him a bit coldly. "Elain, may I speak with you for a moment?" He runs a hand through his cropped hair. A nervous gesture? "Privately."

Lucien is stiff, awkward almost, in his request. In the human world I would be taken aback by such a forward request, but I am learning slowly that the social rules here are much different. On one of the few nights I actually felt well enough to go out of the house in Valaris, Azriel had walked with me to the night market, and had even offered me his arm when I had felt unsteady on my feet. There had been nothing but friendliness in the gesture, even when I leaned heavily on him for balance and no one else seemed to think anything of it. Such an act would have been cause for gossip back home. Still, it's different with Lucien. Everything will always be different with him.

"Of course." I say, brushing soot from my flowing skirts where I had kneeled. "Alis thank you for taking the time to accompany me."

She nods, and throws one more glare over her shoulder at Lucien before bidding us goodbye. Lucien chuckles at this.

"She must be fond of you. Already she doesn't trust me." It's not a real laugh, but it's more than anything I've seen from him before so I smile back. He takes a few more steps in my direction but stays back a healthy distance, as though he's a bit fearful to get too close.

"You...you look like you are feeling well?" His russet eye scans my frame not to appreciate but to assess.

"Yes. Much better thank you." I am suddenly achingly shy and looking at the hem of my gown in the grass.

"I can't tell you what a relief it is to hear that." He says, taking another step closer.

Is it his nervous or mine that is clutching my heart? His hair is so red in the sun it almost looks like a living flame when the wind catches the end. It's breathtaking.

"Elain, I owe you an apology." He has stepped even closer so he is looming above me and if I reached out a hand I might be able to touch him. He has lowered his voice and I know he does not desire to be overheard. "I...I should never had said what I did that day with the Cauldron. I was foolish, endlessly foolish, to mention such a thing out loud. I was just so shocked because I never thought, I mean I thought I had already…" He seems to be growing increasingly more frustrated as he stumbles over his words. "Anyway, just forget about it. What I said doesn't matter. No matter what Tamlin may think."

I'm not sure what I was expecting him to talk about but this certainly was not it. I have a million questions I want to ask him but for some reason the only one that comes out is, "What do you mean it doesn't matter?" My voice is barely a whisper, but he hears it, I know he hears it.

"I mean you don't have to...I would never just assume…" He is concerned now, more than nervous, that he has said the wrong thing. "You don't have to…"

"I spent a month being ill." I start saying before I even realize I have begun. "I spent a month feeling dizzy and confused and hungry. I didn't sleep for weeks because the world was too loud and I felt every breath of wind, and heard every whisper of every heartbeat. I couldn't hold down any food because of the dizziness. I was miserable. The adjustment... it was...taxing. But your jacket Lucien. Your jacket was...a comfort to me." I don't know why I feel it important that he knows this, but I do. I don't feel the need to mention that I committed his smell to memory before any other.

He is gaping now, mouth hanging slightly open and I realize I have probably said too much somehow. He had come to politely tell me that he did not want me in his life and I had just rambled in a way that had made him uncomfortable.

"I'm not...I don't know anything about being Fae, or how any of this works...but I do know I could certainly use a friend...I mean...if you wanted..." I say this quickly, trying to amend my mistake. Certainly requesting a friendship would not be too forward of me.

Lucien looks like he might laugh, or cry, but it all comes out as a sort of frustrated sigh and he runs a hand along the back of his neck. When he looks at me though, his expression is bright.

"Friends?" He says, like what I've said is somehow unclear to him. I wonder if he knows how handsome he is, scars and all. And I realise instantly that this is a very futile thought to have about one's friend, and a tentative friend at that.

"I mean, if I'm to be here in the Spring Court for a long time, it would be nice to have another friendly face around the dinner table. That's all."

"I would love to be your friend Elain." He says so sincerely that I can't help but break into a wide and genuine smile. His answering grin sends a jolt of something through me, and I take a step closer to him. He's so close now." I can't promise that other people won't make this awkward for you though, thanks to my...declaration." He frowns, looking miserable with himself.

"We will figure it out." I smile again, weaker this time. Before I can stop myself I thread my fingers through his and give his hand a reassuring squeeze. His hand is callused and rough in mine. I stop myself from running my thumb against the back of his hand in a caress. His warmth seeps through my skin.

He's shocked, his inhalation of breath sudden and his heart beat kicking in is betraying him at my touch.

I blush crimson but continue. "Awkward conversations around the table are the least of our worries for now Lucien."

And he squeezes my hand back, russet eye brighter than I have seen it before.

We are staring at eachother for longer than is appropriate I am sure. For an entire eternity of grasped fingers and stuttering heartbeats and half smiles. He releases me but not before my entire body has angled itself towards his. This is not what friendship feels like.

He shoves his hands in his pockets and begins to walk further into the gardens. His jaw is working in concern and I know whatever he is going to say next is something he is concerned about. "Elain in the interest of being friends can I ask you a question?"

My heart stutters but I nod, forcing my lips shut into a tight line. The bond feels fragile between us. Like some sort of glassware teetering on the edge of a large table. It will either be caught and made more secure or or hurled to the ground in a trajectory of destruction.

"I don't want to pry into what you are not ready to discuss or to...presume… but Elain I must know. Are you hurt? Did they harm you? Are you….are you alright? You are so unlike your sister, it is….it's hard for me to tell."

Everything Mor and the rest of the Night Court has ever said comes flooding back to me. Distance. Calculating. Observant. These are the things I should seek to be in this moment. And yet, my very being betrays me. I want to fold myself into his arms and tuck my head underneath his chin that is set in concern, though quite handsomely so.

I have no will to lie to this male. The Night Court overestimated my abilities. They overestimated them twelve fold.

"I am not alright Lucien." I admit, staring at my hands, unwilling to find his eyes that are searching my face. "I drowned. I died. I am not anyone I've ever known before."

I look toward the windows of the house, turning my face from him so he might not see the tears welling into my eyes. But he notices. Of course he notices. He audibly exhales, as though he has been punched in the gut when my tears cut tracks over the freckles on my cheeks. I wipe at them furiously despite my grimy hands.

"I can't go home Lucien. Not ever. So no, I am certainly not alright, but that is of no fault of The Night Court."

And I am crying in earnest now and he is reaching toward me and I cannot bare it. I cannot bare the face of my own honesty. I duck away from his hand and run to the house with Lucien calling desperately after me.


End file.
